I wish I had more time to ruminate on this, but I endeavor to publish this before the clock strikes midnight.
All in all, an uneventful year. Well, the continuing dread by the leadership installed to run this nation casts a palpable pall over the entire world and, I've got to say, my general mood. But beyond the direction of our country, I have no complaints. I'm getting into a groove at my full-time job (mix-up today in the filing department notwithstanding, and I assume things will just blow over). My entire family remains healthy. I think that my parents and I are having fewer fights, which is a good thing. And my sex life, while expensive, remains healthy. My erect penis is trying to find back Father Time with every stripper party.
When it comes to momentous occasions, I will point out two. The first is the week I worked for the Final Four. Nothing really beats working the Super Bowl, a more important sporting event. But for six days I worked at a hobby job that I still pine can become something akin to a full-time job in the vocation I still dream of working in. Oh, and I got paid handsomely for those six days, too.
But come to think of it, the most momentous thing of 2019 is a bad thing ... and it happened just eight days ago. The closing of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) is something that I still have not processed. In fact, right now I am actively avoiding even driving around the area lest I look up and see its lights off or, worse, parts of the building already torn off. I'm not sure if I can wait that long, but I'm not sure if, after a sufficient amount of time, I do drive past the area and see an entire vacant lot, or the thing that's supposed to come after it, whether it be condominiums or a gym. It truly was My Home Away From Home. It was a tradition for me to go there after working Vikings Games, but after Sunday, I had to remind myself not to instinctively drive back there because it's closed. I have no home away from home to go to. Now, that may save me money. But, first of all, the stripper diaspora has told me where they now work, and if I make it a habit of visiting all of them at these clubs that do charge cover fees and exorbitant prices on drinks, I could lose even more money. And second of all ... well, of course it's not the same. One of my most cherished establishments is now a memory. And even though I'm so grateful for all the stripper girlfriends who'll give me handjobs and blowjobs for a certain price, dammit, I'll miss that place.
So, so long, 2019. And so long, BJ's.
All in all, an uneventful year. Well, the continuing dread by the leadership installed to run this nation casts a palpable pall over the entire world and, I've got to say, my general mood. But beyond the direction of our country, I have no complaints. I'm getting into a groove at my full-time job (mix-up today in the filing department notwithstanding, and I assume things will just blow over). My entire family remains healthy. I think that my parents and I are having fewer fights, which is a good thing. And my sex life, while expensive, remains healthy. My erect penis is trying to find back Father Time with every stripper party.
When it comes to momentous occasions, I will point out two. The first is the week I worked for the Final Four. Nothing really beats working the Super Bowl, a more important sporting event. But for six days I worked at a hobby job that I still pine can become something akin to a full-time job in the vocation I still dream of working in. Oh, and I got paid handsomely for those six days, too.
But come to think of it, the most momentous thing of 2019 is a bad thing ... and it happened just eight days ago. The closing of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) is something that I still have not processed. In fact, right now I am actively avoiding even driving around the area lest I look up and see its lights off or, worse, parts of the building already torn off. I'm not sure if I can wait that long, but I'm not sure if, after a sufficient amount of time, I do drive past the area and see an entire vacant lot, or the thing that's supposed to come after it, whether it be condominiums or a gym. It truly was My Home Away From Home. It was a tradition for me to go there after working Vikings Games, but after Sunday, I had to remind myself not to instinctively drive back there because it's closed. I have no home away from home to go to. Now, that may save me money. But, first of all, the stripper diaspora has told me where they now work, and if I make it a habit of visiting all of them at these clubs that do charge cover fees and exorbitant prices on drinks, I could lose even more money. And second of all ... well, of course it's not the same. One of my most cherished establishments is now a memory. And even though I'm so grateful for all the stripper girlfriends who'll give me handjobs and blowjobs for a certain price, dammit, I'll miss that place.
So, so long, 2019. And so long, BJ's.
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